


Touch

by SharpestRose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion to 'Hidden Treasure'. Black has gone to 'lie low at Lupin's for a while'. Remus rediscovers a sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

His reaction was faster then his waking, jerking back away from my hand even before his eyes were open.

“Hush, Padfoot,” I soothed, dabbing more of the healing solution onto the cut running along his hairline from forehead to temple. It was dawn, colour soaking back into the morning as birds trilled outside.

As knowledge came back to him his expression softened and he looked around. “I’m inside,” he said, pushing his hair out of his eyes and sitting up. I’d lit a fire, but the room wasn’t really warmed yet.

“Well yes, I wasn’t going to leave you under a tree somewhere,” I pointed out, standing up and stepping away from him, taking the bowl of healing potion with me. I always kept a ready supply against emergencies.

“But you’re always so exhausted after the full moon,” he said in an apologetic voice. I grinned and told him not the think about it a moment more.

A fine pair we made, in that wretched little room out in the middle of the forest. Collecting what useful ingredients grew in that area, laying low from anyone who may have wanted us found. Outcast and fugitive, with our tattered clothing and eyes older then our bodies. Neither of us liked to be touched, and avoided as much contact as we could in such a small space. As if we’d burn each other if our skin so much as connected.

He stood up gingerly, the bruise on his ribs making him wince slightly. My own aches and pains were still stinging, a testament to the adventures the previous night must have held. When we were like that, awkwardly edging past each other in that little room, we couldn’t bear to touch, while out under the moon our claws and teeth ripped skin and fur to shreds.

His nightshirt was unbuttoned over his chest, I’d had to slip it over his head and hadn’t had the opportunity to fasten the neckline closed. His fingers, two of them splinted, fumbled to button the shirt closed against the chill.

“Here, let me help you.” I couldn’t stand to watch him do that. After the last full moon, we’d barely had the energy to drink a cup of tea, eat a few bites of food and dress our wounds before falling into uneasy dreams on the large mattress in the corner. We shared it, because that was the practical thing to do, but kept to our respective edges even on the coldest nights.

“Moony, you’re falling asleep on your feet,” he protested, trying again to cover his chest and prevent a cough from taking hold of his thin form.

“Yes, well, so are you.” Food and drink could wait until we were rested. Sleep was coming to us both, welcome or not. We were hardly a robust pair. I moved to go help him but he managed to get it done, buttoning the thick woollen shirt up to his neck.

“See, done.” His smile was almost triumphant. He’d never let anyone do anything for him, if he could at all help it.

“Then lie back down, you stubborn fool,” I said with a smile of my own.

“Stubborn fool? Me? Bit of pot-calling-kettle there, isn’t it?” A smirk on his lips as he lay back down. His point was a fair one, so I lay down as well, happy to finally sink into my almost overwhelming exhaustion.

“Thank you for looking after me,” his voice mumbled after a moment.

“I keep telling you, think nothing of it.” I shifted to get more comfortable, my eyes already drifting closed. My fingertips accidentally brushed the skin of his leg and he recoiled sharply. I sighed and moved my hand away with a murmured apology.

When my thoughts had reached that point where they slip away as fast as they form, I felt his shoulder brush against my back, and this time he didn’t jerk away. My breath hitched but I didn’t move, afraid I would scare him away. We stayed like that, halfway to dreaming, unmoving, for minute after minute. Then I took a gamble and rolled over to face him.

And now that we had broken the no-touch rule, it seemed we couldn’t get close enough. We clutched at each other, arms wrapped around injured flesh as tightly as said injuries could allow, plus a little extra. Pain didn’t matter so long as he was in my arms, where he belonged. I kissed his eyelids lightly as I could and the dampness in the shadows under his lashes. His thin cheeks, the corners of his mouth, the tip of his nose. I could feel his palms stroking against my hair, his hands shaking.

We were both trembling, because we weren’t children anymore and there was no way I could heal him, of making it better, because old wounds turn into scars and then they stay there forever.

My entire mind was devoted to fevered thoughts of how lunatic this was. We needed to be ready for the dark times ahead. Out affection for each other had been our downfall during Voldemort’s first reign of terror, our closeness such a liability that we overreached to prove that it wouldn’t impede our work. If only we’d trusted each other, instead of clinging to our stupid pride, I would have known about switching the secret-keeper and so many years of heartache could have been spared. We could not risk that again.

But the moon only shines with borrowed light, and I needed him, my bright star, my Padfoot. I’d lost him once, and nothing would make me risk that again.

Too exhausted and sore to do more than hold each other, we fell asleep together, breath mingling with breath, just as it was always supposed to be. And whatever was to come, we would face it.

 


End file.
